Camping Tales
by wuemsel
Summary: Banter made story, this one. Hutch wants to go camping.


Though this might **read** like just one long ramble-banter-thingy, it is in fact a bow to a few of the fun and great camping stories I've enjoyed over the years. I didn't get every one I wanted to mention in, but at least a few. :)

Special thanks to e-pony for her great beta-work. Thank you, buddy, you've been wonderful and a great help, as always! :D And thanks to Strut, Nelleke and vermilioncola, who thought this was funny enough to post.

Ah, yes, no warnings here (unless it'll upset you to be reminded of all the horrible things that happened to our boys out there in the fangs of Monster Nature) and the disclaimers are the usual, meaning I don't own the cuties. Poohey.

Have fun!

**Camping Tales**

By Wuemsel

"But you're gonna like it!" Hutch insisted, accepting another box from Starsky, who was crouched awkwardly in the Torino's backseat. This one was heavy enough to make the blond sag a little as the load settled into his arms. With a groan, he straightened again. "What the hell _is_ this, man?"

"Books," Starsky replied absently, not looking up from where he was rummaging around in the car.

Not yet trusting himself to walk with his burden, Hutch frowned. But it was a lost gesture; Starsky wasn't looking. "How many times have I told you not to put all your books in one box? How am I supposed to carry this shit?"

Continuing to grumble, Hutch staggered off toward Starsky's new apartment, inching up the porch steps one at a time.

He returned a short time later, tugging at the front of his T-shirt, which was sticking uncomfortably to his neck and chest. Trust Starsky to move in this heat! Still, Hutch reasoned, this was better than the last time, when they'd had to keep sprinting to the car and back in the pouring rain. Shrugging philosophically, he looked up to find his friend leaning against the Torino, holding out a newly opened bottle of beer.

Hutch snorted. "That's what I get for straining every muscle in my body? Lukewarm beer?"

Starsky seemed to contemplate that. "Thanks?" he offered, raising his eyebrows.

"Not good enough," Hutch decided and snatched the beer out of his partner's hand.

"I'll treat you to a pizza later," Starsky said, "and 'cause you've been such a good boy today, maybe I'll even let them put broccoli on yours." He smiled graciously.

Hutch glanced at his friend over the bottle, took a large gulp of beer and then let his eyes roam over the remainder of the boxes. When he looked up at Starsky again, his expression was blank with self-righteousness. "You owe me that camping trip, pal. This is about the tenth time I've carried your library up and down stairs."

Starsky wasn't impressed. "I help you when you move."

"Yeah, but in all the time we've known each other, I've moved twice."

"Is it my fault I have shit luck with apartments? Should I be punished for my landlord selling the whole damn block to some developer?"

Hutch cast his friend a puppy-dog look. "Going camping with me is a punishment?"

"Wha–? Yeah!"

"Oh." Hutched shrugged. "Well, if you'd think of it as fun, maybe you'd feel better."

"That's what you said last time," Starsky grumbled, grabbing the half-empty bottle from Hutch's hand to steal a sip, "right before we ended up in ER… _again_!"

Hutch could feel a faint blush spreading across his face. For once, he was grateful for the heat. "I still think you're exaggerating," he replied, reaching out to reclaim his beer.

Starsky moved the bottle out of reach, though, casting his friend a stern glance. "How would you know? You were unconscious."

"Yeah, well… okay," Hutch admitted uneasily. "So last time was _not _a fun experience; I'll give you that. But that was an exception. 'Sides, it could've happened to anyone." He tried to retrieve his beer again but met with subtle resistance.

"I thought they said an allergic reaction like that was a one-in-a-million thing?"

Hutch rolled his eyes. "So, it could've happened to anyone with that particular allergy. Now, gimme my –"

"Nobody else _has_ that allergy, Hutch!" Starsky interrupted, ignoring the unfinished demand. "Don't you see? Nature is not your friend. It's been trying to kill you for years now." As if to underline his words, he finished Hutch's beer and then handed it back to him.

"Hmm," Hutch muttered, lifting the empty bottle to study it. "I still think I like nature better than some people."

"Stop whining and grab a box," Starsky ordered, taking the bottle back before Hutch could toss it into the back of the Torino. Shooting his partner a disapproving glance, he stuck it into a half-opened box he'd just picked up and headed to the apartment.

All the way, he could feel Hutch's scowl trained on him. When he turned after having put the box down in the living room, he found his friend frowning at him over the box he was still holding.

"I've earned a camping trip today," the blond stated.

"Would you cut it out already?"

A perfect pout forming on his face, Hutch glanced down at the box and then up again. "We're going camping, or I'll drop this box."

Starsky shrugged. "Go ahead; it's just your stuff."

Childlike determination was instantly replaced by blank surprise. "Huh?" Setting down the box, Hutch stood staring at it as if it were an ancient artifact he'd just happened to stumble over at his partner's apartment. "I have a box full of stuff at your place?" he asked doubtfully.

Starsky nodded.

With an insecure grimace, Hutch opened the box to peek inside, before uttering a meaningful, "Hmm." He picked up the toothbrush that lay on top. "Maybe I _should_ go camping alone." He shook his head. "D'you ever think we spend too much time together?" he asked Starsky in mock earnestness.

"Only when you go on and on about wanting to drag me into some bear's john," Starsky replied, turning toward the car again.

Instantly drawn back into the match, Hutch let the toothbrush drop into the box and hurried after his friend. "Why do I always have to practically force you to do stuff that's good for you?"

Meeting Starsky's incredulous stare, Hutch shook his index finger at the brunet. "You know something, Starsk? I think you _do_ know camping would do you good, but you just can't admit I'm right. Reverse psychology – just like when your mom used to bribe you into drinking your milk."

Seeing he'd hit a nerve, Hutch paused, his hands on the open door of the Torino. "Rachel thinks it's a good thing I take you out of the smog to 'cherish God's green Earth' every once in a while."

"Yeah," Starsky said, unimpressed, and started dragging out bags of clothes and other soft materials. "That might be because we never tell her about the allergic reactions…"

Hutch grimaced, as if Starsky had just fouled him in a game.

"Or the rascals with rabies, or the crazed hillbillies, or the dangerous drug lords, or the family of coyotes you managed to interest in human flesh that time… or about the time you obviously thought camping would cure your friggin' pneumonia without telling me you were sick."

"I thought it was just a cold," Hutch muttered defensively.

Starsky didn't listen. "And what's good for me is to _not_ spend days caught in damned bear traps in the pouring rain! Or having our plane crash and listening to you lose your marbles from infection! Or throwing up all over myself, while you drag me up some damn mountain!"

Another mumble. "What? With the condition you were in, I could hardly trust you to climb it yourself."

This time, Starsky _was _listening, and a threatening index finger shot up to point at Hutch. "Not. Funny."

"Look, it's not gonna be like –"

"And what," Starsky cut him off, "about the time you stepped on a squirrel and had your hand pinned to a tree?"

"Ah… yes…" Frowning slightly, Hutch rubbed the inside of one hand with his thumb. Then, as he remembered his other hand had also been shot on that occasion, he repeated the motion on the other one.

"You almost died!" Starsky exclaimed and then huffed. "Not that that means anything, mind you. Every time we go camping, one of us almost dies; it's a rule, just like… like you should never have a woman on board a ship." He shook his head emphatically. "I don't know, pal, but one of us is that woman on a ship when it comes to camping. And since it's been _me_ who's been called on to search for my missing partner_ numerous _times when he set out for the great outdoors alone, I'm ready to point my finger at you."

"You can't possibly–" Again, Hutch wasn't allowed to finish.

"C'mon, Hutch. I heard 'em placing bets on who's gonna end up in the ER whenever we pitch our tent. Face facts, pal: You're jinxed." With that, Starsky pushed a bag into Hutch's arms, grabbed two others himself and marched back toward the apartment.

"Who places bets?" Hutch asked, following him.

"The animals," Starsky repeated, not missing a blink. "They know us by now. All those squirrels we meet, they spread the word."

Shaking his head with a little laugh, Hutch rolled his eyes. Inside, he set the bag next to where Starsky had dropped his. Then, he turned to his friend. "Okay. First of all, the time I stepped on a squirrel? That was _your_ trip, remember? You thought we'd find gold up there. So, of course**,** we ran into trouble. You can't go camping with a goal." Letting the amusement fade from his voice, Hutch cast his friend a mock-lecturing glance. "Didn't you read any fairy tales when you were a kid?"

Starsky stared. "The one where the one cop has a dumb idea, and so the other one gets shot, beaten up, stabbed and then almost croaks from a punctured lung? No, sorry, ma must've skipped that one."

Seeing he wouldn't get anywhere by arguing, Hutch switched to the sick-puppy-dog look again. "Staaaaaaaarsk."

Rolling his eyes, Starsky turned on his heels and marched outside again. "Not listening." When he'd half-reached the Torino, he noticed Hutch wasn't following. He turned toward the porch with an annoyed sigh. "You comin'?"

At the sight of a pouting Hutch shuffling down the steps, Starsky couldn't help but laugh. "How about we take a break now, and I treat you to a camping pizza? Lotsa veggies and rabbit poop on it," he explained.

"Yay," Hutch muttered unenthusiastically, climbing into the passenger side of the Torino. He all but slammed the door shut behind him.

With a reprimanding scowl at his friend, Starsky slid into the car and started it up. "Did you behave like this when you didn't get your way as a kid?"

"Yeah," Hutch replied, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"And did it help much?"

"No," came the answer in the same petulant tone as before, "but it made me feel better."

"I see."

For the next minutes, they drove in silence, Starsky sneaking an occasional glance at his sulking friend. "You're not gonna keep that up for the rest of the move, are ya?" he eventually asked.

"I might return to arguing and begging again later," Hutch said without looking at him.

"Oh, goody."

"You don't like that; so just accept the fact that I'm right, and let's set the date."

"I don't believe this," Starsky muttered, wiping a hand over his face. "Is it part of the _fun_ for you to drag me along, kicking and screaming?"

Hutch seemed to ponder the question. "Dunno," he finally said with a grin. "But it adds a certain sense of familiarity, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah? Who played that part before you met me, then?"

Hutch shrugged. "Well, my dog didn't like camping very much."

Starsky shot him a dry glance. "Gee, thanks, buddy." Only then did the answer seem to fully sink in, and he frowned. "How can a dog not like camping?"

Another shrug, a little more emphasized this time. "Don't ask me. He was the weirdest creature." A grin started on Hutch's face, as he continued. "He liked fast food and Saturday morning cartoons, and he only ever chased flash cars. Oh, and he _hated _water. Isn't that strange?"

At Starsky's darkening expression, Hutch's grin widened. "But I sure loved him."

"Cute," Starsky grumbled.

They parked near The Pits and walked the short way up the street to a new pizza parlor that had opened a few months ago. Having gone there the first time just to irk Huggy, the detectives had found it to be the perfect spot – meaning it had stacked waitresses and the strangest menu ever seen in a pizza joint. The restaurant's name – Let's Put It On – should have given that away.

Unsurprisingly, the place had quickly become Starsky and Hutch's favourite takeout. And how fortunate that it was so close to their local watering hole, too!

As the partners placed their order, the elderly man behind the counter didn't even look at them strangely (another advantage of the Let's Put It On). They then sat down on a table near the door to wait.

Before Hutch could even try to start in again (and Starsky was sure that was what Hutch had intended to do when he opened his mouth to speak), the brunet quickly suggested, "Hey! How 'bout we go to Vegas for our days off? Your car, and I'll pay the hotel 'cause you helped with the move. How about that?" He raised his brows expectantly, grinning happily as if he'd just solved the problem.

Hutch frowned. "I hate Vegas."

The grin vanished; the raised brows didn't. "Now, that's a lie."

"Well, sure, I appear to like it when I'm _there_," Hutch explained. "Everybody does. Vegas makes you high."

"Yeah. So?"

"So... I wanna go camping."

Visibly restraining himself from becoming violent, Starsky looked at his friend with his jaw clenched. "Okay," he eventually said, "I wouldn't wanna make you go some place you don't like." The sarcasm was unmistakable. "So how about just staying home, having a few relaxing days? You know, go to the beach, watch creature features, call a few –"

"You'd rather stay home watching _Godzilla_ than go –"

"Yes."

Hutch leaned back on his chair, as if taken aback. "That hurts."

"Don't you make it personal, now!" Frustrated, Starsky lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "I don't wanna go camping, and that's it! What makes you so sure you'll convince me that you just won't stop?"

"'Cause I always do," said Hutch with a smile.

Looking like a kicked puppy, Starsky let his shoulders fall. "Why can't we ever do what _I_ like?" he whined.

"Pity." A velvety female voice caused Starsky to turn his head to see a new waitress (she had to be new; he would have remembered _her)_ hand Hutch the bag with their food.

"Huh?" Still stuck in the argument, Starsky's mental reflexes didn't propel him into the new conversation fast enough.

"_I_ would let you do what you like _all _the time." The waitress smiled.

Staring at her, Starsky wondered if his grin looked as dumb as it felt. Then, suddenly, Hutch was next to him, dragging him to his feet by his sleeve.

"Yeah, real pity." Pushing the food bag into Starsky's hands, the blond placed his arm around his partner's shoulders and planted a fleeting kiss on his temple. "Well, let's go, honey bunch. Thanks." Hutch smiled at the waitress, ruffled Starsky's hair and practically walked them both out onto the street.

It took Starsky almost ten steps to transform his incredulous stare into a glare and plant his feet.

Turning, Hutch looked at him questioningly. He couldn't quite hide the twinkling in his eyes, though, nor the twitching of the corners of his mouth. "Hmm?" he asked innocently.

"And after _that_ you think I'd go camping with you or even speak to you ever again because…?"

"'Cause you can't help it?" Hutch suggested, the twitching coming dangerously close to a smirk. "Aw, Starsk, c'mon," he quickly added. "You know you would've invited her on our trip; you always do. You know chicks love the outdoors."

"First of all," Starsky started, taking a threatening step forward and then another, as Hutch backed away, "what does that make _you_? Second, we don't _have_ a trip I could invite someone on, okay? And third, you idiot, she probably has a friend!" The last statement was uttered in a high-pitched tone of despair. "We could've invited both of them! That," he added somberly, pointing back down the street, "was your _one_ chance of getting me to come along, pal, and you blew it."

Hutch wasn't impressed. "Ah, cheer up," he said jovially, as he turned to continue on their way. "When we get back, we'll come here again, tell her it was a joke, and you'll still get your date."

Finding Starsky wasn't following him, he stopped, looked back and cast his friend a frown. "But you know what happened last time: the outdoors and girls…" Hutch scrunched up his face and shook his head curtly. "'Sides, camping's about manly… togetherness," he concluded, beaming, as if he'd just made up the word. "You know, man-to-man talks by the fireside, fishing, quiet time for hours on end… testosterony stuff." He beamed again.

Starsky didn't look convinced. "I hate fishing, you never shut up, and last time we almost burned the tent down." He shuffled reluctantly forward to join his friend.

"That's the spirit!" Hutch patted the brunet's shoulder. Then, as if as an afterthought, he added gravely, "And it'd be very foolish to just drive off into the great nothing with perfect strangers, you know."

Starsky shot him a glance. "I wasn't expecting her to still be a_ stranger_ by then," he said dryly. "And what about what's-her-name, anyway?"

"That was different," Hutch replied. "What's-her-name and I loved each other. We had a relationship."

"By what? High school standards?"

Hutch couldn't suppress the smirk that rushed across his face, even though he tried. "Time is meaningless where true passion is concerned," he lectured, holding open the door to The Pitsfor his friend. "Besides, we never really got to the camping part of the trip." He grinned slyly at Starsky's look. "You see, there was this motel on the way, and…"

"Yeah." Starsky nodded. "I figured as much, since I didn't have to come get you from some small-town vet's office."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "I don't _always_ get into trouble when I go camping," he defended himself. "I'll have you know, I have an entire collection of perfectly happy, untroubled camping-trip memories – times when absolutely _nothing _happened."

"Sure you do, Hutch. Just how did your dog die again?"

"Uh –"

Hutch's reply was cut off by Huggy, who had just turned to greet his friends, arms lifted in a welcoming gesture. Then, catching sight of the food bag Starsky was carrying, the bartender crossed his arms in front of him with a scowl.

"Hey, Huggy," the detectives chorused.

"We need beer," Starsky said. Leaning casually against the bar, he put the bag down on its ring-stained surface. "Move is taking a lot longer than we thought."

"'Cause Dirtball here unpacked and repacked all the boxes _I_ packed," Hutch explained, pointing his thumb at Starsky.

The brunet simply nodded, unimpressed. "Blondie thinks you write the name of the room you _unfold_ the box in on the top, not the room all the stuff inside came outta. But it's not his fault," he added graciously. "He's never moved using boxes before. He always just waits till mold sets in and then moves on, leaving everything behind."

"Doesn't everyone?" Hutch quipped.

"They don't have beer next door, too?" Huggy asked. Only now did the detectives see he still hadn't moved from his scowling pose behind the bar.

Starsky bit his lip, his gaze traveling from their food to Hutch. "Uh… ya think you might need a salad to go with that?" he asked, nudging the bag.

"Definitely," Hutch instantly replied.

"And a salad," Starsky grinned at Huggy, enlarging their order.

The bartender rolled his eyes. "If I'da known they were gonna brainwash my customers, I never woulda helped Jurji and Irena get the license to open that damn place."

Both detectives shrugged unsympathetically. "Never trust a Russian," Hutch offered dryly.

"Now, you tell me," Huggy grumbled, as he started putting bottles of beer into a bag.

Starsky and Hutch watched him mumble to himself for a while, before Hutch turned to his partner again. "So, you want a cabin or a tent?"

Starsky's head fell onto the bar's surface.

Hutch waited. "Starsk?"

"Why?" Starsky asked the bar. He picked his head up again, eyes closed, chin raised, as if he were asking a higher being. "Why is it that the guy who can hear my thoughts when we're closing in on a suspect doesn't hear me when I friggin' _talk_to him?" Blinking his eyes open (apparently, he hadn't received an answer), he let his head roll on his shoulders to look at Hutch.

Expectant silence settled in. Hutch had played the game too often to stumble at the finish line.

"Cabin," Starsky finally said. It sounded like he'd just confessed to the JFK assassination.

Again, Hutch was too experienced to show his excitement and simply nodded. "Good choice. Ground's still a bit wet in the morning."

"Is that where you jog every day?" Starsky asked dryly. "Up into the woods to check the ground?"

"Only on Fridays."

"Course," Starsky said. He unceremoniously placed a few bills on the bar and picked up their food. "Thanks, Hug. See ya soon."

Glancing over his shoulder, he gave Hutch a pointed look. "You carry the beer," he muttered and headed for the door, unintelligible mumbles marking his way.

Accepting the bag Huggy handed him, Hutch waggled his brows. "Victory," he beamed.

Huggy frowned. "You're dragging him on a trip next weekend? But I thought we have that belated surprise party for him on –"

"We do," Hutch assured him. "We do."

"But why?"

His grin widening, Hutch lifted one shoulder in an almost helpless shrug. "It's just so much more fun this way," he admitted.

Huggy stared at him and then laughed, shaking his head. "Friends like you…"

"Yeah. See ya, buddy."

Already halfway across the room, Hutch stopped, snapping his fingers. "Oh, hey! You know that new waitress they've got at the Let's Put It On? About this tall... dark hair, brown eyes, shuts off the flow of oxygen to your brain?"

"Ah," Huggy nodded. "Her. She's been here a few times. I think Julji sends her over to make up for the cuts in business."

"I bet. Could you invite her to Starsky's party?"

"Sure. No problemo, my man."

"Thanks. Tell her he'd like that," Hutch added with a little smirk. He winked at his friend and turned to leave, just as he heard Starsky yelling impatiently for him outside.

~ THE END ~


End file.
